


Anticipate

by orphan_account



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: M/M, idk man elves being cute is my weakness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-22
Updated: 2016-05-22
Packaged: 2018-06-09 22:44:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6926956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My half of an art trade with rainbowd00dles on tumblr. I hope you like it, dear~</p>
            </blockquote>





	Anticipate

**Author's Note:**

> Art belongs to rainbowd00dles on tumblr. Please go and check out Anne's work there! I take no credit for the art, just the writing.

I.

I’d fallen for him, entirely on accident, with a heavy force that dragged me helplessly down by the hairs on the back of my neck. It was clumsy, a misstep that dropped me with careless abandon right into the pits of emotional encumbrance. I chewed on the inside of my cheek, giddy with feelings prancing on winged infatuation in the lowest pit of my stomach, unsettling my guts with anxiety. I felt like a child again, chasing baby-faced boys with buttered curls in the warm afternoon sunlight, singing fanciful songs of the emerald knights and their valor; ruddy cheeks flecked with the telling pink of innocent love. To be that young again, where things like love and responsibility were wholly uncomplicated, tinged my daydreams in a sepia melancholy.

He had, since joining, followed me like a stalwart protector; somehow always at my heels whenever I needed him most. I would turn to face a surely disabling blow from a monstrosity spit out by the fade into this world, and in a flash of silver, my hide would be preserved by the grace of his sword arm. Smeared in the blood of a carrion scented victory, my hands would shake, and he would flash me a subdued smile that sent a shockwave straight into my chest. Beneath the haphazard binding holding my small breasts snugly to my chest, the pounding of my hummingbird heart would deceive me, time and time again.

Honestly though, I couldn’t even remember when it began. The budding feeling of a nonchalant attraction, at first ignorable, soon bloomed into a garden of snarled vines and fragrant flowers that clouded even the best of my sensibilities. We’d met when Cullen told me a group of Dalish elves had come to serve the Inquisition, and even then, he stood out among several sets of ears that put my homesick misery to bed. I’d put aside my duties, swimming through stacks of paperwork set along the chain of command by my ambassador, in an effort to make my kin feel more at ease in the stronghold of more humans than even _I_ knew what to do with. The burdens of command saw me through the trials of standing and falling for the disdain hidden carefully behind gilded masks and the words “knife-ear” embellished with tasteless speculation. I would see to it these folks could make out the Blood of the People behind the Chantry’s unwelcome title.

“Andaran atish’an,” I’d greeted them all with a respectable bow, watching the way their taut shoulders settled at the familiarity of the language. “I hope you will find a welcoming place in Skyhold. If any of you ever need me, or face discriminatory behavior from the humans, please do not hesitate to find me. I will not tolerate rudeness. However, I’m sure you all could use refreshments and rest. Rivra will show you to your lodgings and see you fed.” I gestured for an elderly elven woman, who had been nothing short of a mother to the Dalish recruits, to once more extend her kindness. She did so with a smile, greeting each elf with warmth that put a bit of colour back into their wide eyes. It was encouraging to see the lot of them follow her as she led them to the secluded portion of the castle where the others of my blood were holed up.

He was different. Instead of grouping with the others, he stood, silent and aloof, gauging me with intensely golden eyes flecked with pinpricks of red. I met his eyes, and his lips pulled up just so. I watched the golden jewelry through his lower lip move with a minute twitch. “You are Elvhen.” His statement made me chuckle, and I nodded.

“You sound as surprised as the Orlesian Nobility.”

“I am not surprised, lethallin,” the accent he spoke with ran along every word as thick as the Dalish blood that ran through his veins, as thick as the blood that ran through mine. “I am amused. A human Chantry has given you the title of a religion you do not follow.”

I shrugged, feeling the freckles smattered along my face burning beneath the sudden flush of blood that betrayed me. My skin was alabaster in the sunlight, and every emotional plight was an undeniable event worn like a gaudy adornment. “It’s daunting. Leading an Inquisition, a _human_ Inquisition at that, was not something the vir tanadhal prepared me for.”

He laughed, the sound rippling along my forearms, stirring the wispy hairs from within the follicles. “Indeed.”

* * *

II.

I’d fawned over him in secret for months. We traipsed through the Hinterlands, braved the unforgiving barrenness of the Western Approach, and even waded through the undead waters of the Fallow Mire together, only for my longing to grow and expand in the hollow space between my ribs. He didn’t say much as we perused the landscapes, though by firelight as we camped, he shared stories of his clan with me in the Elvhen tongue. Playful shadows cast by the glow of the crackling fire lounged across his face, and he would smile in a fond remembrance that urged me to address the painful ache that made me long for the simple life of my clan.

I spoke to him about this on several occasions. It had started on a particularly taxing day in the Western Approach; nursing a few purplish wounds from demons, as well as the familiar ache in my palm, he had noticed the standoffish disposition that wracked my frame. I sat by my lonesome, staring out across the sands, as the fire lapped at the discs in my spine in a futile attempt to warm the displeasure that sank like a weight between each nodule.  The rest of my party had succumbed to sleep hours before, but I could find no comfort beneath the canvas tents that quivered with the soft whisper of a cold nighttime wind. Instead, I bunkered down in the sand, counting stars and drawing constellations with my eyes.

“Still awake, Inquisitor?” His voice was shallow, carrying on the breeze that played through the chestnut fields of my hair. I turned with a sudden surprise, biting my tongue in my haste.

“Ah, unfortunately. It’s hard to sleep in the desert. Today was…long.”

He sighed, sitting down next to me, folding his legs behind himself. “Ir abelas,” He murmured, placing his palm firmly on my shoulder. I stiffened, and he began to withdraw his hand, only to return it as my thin fingers rose up and brushed his.

“It’s alright. All a part of the job, I suppose.”

A soft sound of agreement passed through his lips, and I turned my gaze to meet his. My heart struggled against the dirty cloth wrapped around my chest as I found his eyes locked onto me, a soft affection gracing his features. “How do you keep yourself together? A Dalish elf under the command, the scrutiny, of so many shemlen.”

“I’m not so sure of that myself.” I shrugged, and his hand cascaded along my shoulders, melting down my back and coming to a stop in the dip of my spine where my shoulder blades came to rest at an equal distance apart. His fingers tapped my spine, a gesture steeped in the echo of a thoughtful nod, as I once more gazed along the barren landscape.

“Ma nadas hamin.” His voice was honeyed amber, melting comfortingly through the warmth of fresh tea that sweetened the back of my tongue. I nodded, yawing, and turned towards him once more.

“I should sleep,” I echoed, meeting his gaze with a languid path trekked by my eyes glazed over with exhaustion. We held each other in heady captivation for a moment, the desert around us fading to the gentle undertone of white noise. The crackle of the fire spat a spark into the inky night shrouding us like a blanket, a testament to the warming desire flowing through lightless tunnels and bursting at the ends of my nerves. “Why aren’t you asleep?” I asked, my voice gentle, as our bodies drew closer.

His hand fell away from my back, the mahogany of his long fingers tracing along my pale knuckles pressed into the sand, supporting my weight. The touch sent a vibration dancing up my arm, and my eyes flicked from his to his mouth and back again. “Restlessness.” He answered with that same subdued smile, choking my hurried breath in my throat.

Without fail, he took note of this, chuckling fondly. My cheeks burned hotly, and his face approached mine. The tip of his nose grazed against the warmth of my cheek, stoking the fire just below the skin to a clean burn that engulfed me. I felt as though I might collapse into the sands, melt across the coarse ground as I turned slowly to ash.

“On era'vun.” He murmured against my skin, his hot breath fanning along my jawline as the pulse laying snugly beneath my skin thundered with sordid desire.

All at once, he pulled away from me, standing and disappearing into the canvas tents. I sat there, dumbfounded, and brought a single hand to my cheek in disbelief. Against my palm, beyond the magic thrumming beneath the skin, I could still feel his affection linger.

* * *

 III.

That late evening in the Western Approach wasn’t the first, nor the last, of its kind. Many more nights in the following weeks were both doused and sprinkled with lingering gazes and touches, close encounters and the formation of a bond that danced sloppily across the thin line between friends and something more. With each closing in, each whisper of an ‘almost there’ that brushed my full, too pink lower lip, my calm composure cracked just a bit more. Dust and fragmented chips of my resolve drifted away on the soft rushes of air that carried his honeyed chuckles, washing over me in rolling waves that ran my heart ragged. Sparks flickered to life between us in subtle ways; the way his fingers brushed mine as we surveyed the landscape, the reassuring words he’d whisper to me in my native tongue, the crisp mornings where I’d wake up tangled in his arms following my complaints the night prior about the too-cold temperature. He’d even gone so far as to run the pad of his thumb along my lower lip, “removing a spot of blood that was not my own,” and sending not only myself, but my party, to slack jawed awe. He had won me over, and he knew it.

But frustration began to simmer bitterly inside of me, rattling the lid with metallic clanks. I knew, he knew, and yet nothing was done. Aside from lingering flirtations, or the occasional touch that set tongues wagging, he acted on nothing. A couple of months had elapsed this way, and in a crude, anxiety riddled demand for answers, I decided to square up and tell him to either shit or fill in the latrine. Patience wasn’t exactly a strong suit of mine.

On a breezy afternoon, where my engagements were few and far in between, I stormed through our settlement on the outskirts of Redcliffe Farm, on a quest to find him and demand answers. I wasn’t quite sure what I had expected from this endeavor, but the answer I got certainly wasn’t it.

“Ah, there you are. Come with me,” he’d said before I’d even had a chance to open my mouth, winding an arm around my thin waist and guiding me with a knowing smile. I let him lead me where he may, feeling all of the piss and vinegar melt into a content nothingness as the camp disappeared behind us.

* * *

IV.

Jathrin led me to a shady spot atop a high hill near Winterwatch Tower where we’d rescued Ritts, displaying with a wide sweep of his hand the blanket unfurled in the thick grasses. “Sit.” He smiled, putting a hand on the small of my back and urging me forward.

I followed his word, taking a seat with folded legs and my back resting comfortably against the thick trunk of an old tree. He sat beside me, a tangle of limbs folding up neatly, a keen awareness of my space putting a gap between our bodies. My brows furrowed at this, but relaxed some as Jathrin’s hand inched across the blanket towards my thigh.

“So…we’re picnicking?” I asked, running a hand through my wind tousled hair. Jathrin shook his head slowly, lifting a single finger and tapping the back of my palm, which I’d balled up and pressed into the soft earth. He drew a small heart shape with a quick swipe of his fingertip, smiling coyly at me through his dark lashes. The way my eyes widened may as well have been audible, and he tinged just the barest shade of pink beneath the rich colour of his skin.

“I do believe we have something to discuss,” he opened the conversation so easily, his words a silken relief to the reckless abandon of my impatient heart. “The romantic exchanges and advances have not gone unnoticed, Inquisitor.”

“I-I, uh, _oh_.” I tried to laugh, but the sound came out with an adolescent crack in my voice, betraying me. I tried, unsuccessfully, to counter with a clear of my throat, but Jathrin brought a hand to his mouth to stifle a laugh. “I, um, I meant to…I mean, I was going to find you earlier but you found _me_ and so, um, I was _going_ to bring it up—”

“Enough,” He laughed, leaning in close, the soft flesh of his lips pressing a sure kiss into my cheek. I felt my breath catch in my throat, hitching my ribs to account for newfound fervor at which my heart threw itself against the cage encasing it. “I was not suggesting that we explain yourself, I was suggesting that perhaps we make the interactions between us more direct. Perhaps venture into something beyond subtlety.”

“W-we could, I mean, if you _want_ to…” I managed around my tongue, which suddenly felt clumsy and too large for my dry mouth. “I, um, Jath—”

“Hush,” He laughed, the sound endearing. His hand slipped into my palm, clasping his long fingers around my hand. “You are not what I expected. You are a handsome spirit, worth my affections. I trust that you are content with this proposal?”

“I—I mean, damn, yes. Wait..what?” My brain echoed with the sound of a broken bottle, and a frustrated sigh passed over my flushed lips unknowingly. My brain sparked, disconnecting itself from my restraint and sensibilities. The primal desire that had been festering inside of me for Creators know how long bared its teeth, ripping through me until my fingers twitched.

Jathrin pulled away, looking at me with curious eyes. “What is it?” I looked to him, blinking once, twice, again. A dumbfounded look fell upon his face, and he cocked a brow. “Ferion, what is—mmph!”

Without thinking, both of my hands grabbed at his cheeks, roughly pulling his mouth against mine. I made the smallest sound of pure satisfaction; my lids fluttering closed as I melted into Jathrin. His arms wound around my midsection, and I scooted towards him.

Our lips underscored the soft birdsongs and rustling leaves, the barest sighs and heaving breaths filling my ears. My hands were wanton explorers, moving from their precious hold on Jathrin’s face, to cupping the back of his neck, and pulling his weight atop of me. I sank like an autumn leaf to the ground, my back sinking into the woven fabric of the blanket as Jathrin braced his forearms against the ground to either side of my head. He pulled away from me, his breathing a ragged mimicry of my own, and a content smile grew lazily across my lips. “I can’t believe you kept me waiting so long.” I murmured with a newfound braveness, running the tips of my fingers down the sides of his neck. I felt the shiver that dipped his naval ripple along his skin, and Jathrin chuckled.

“Ir abelas, ma'arlath.”

“You should be.” I chuckled shortly, pulling him in for a brief kiss that lingered a moment too long, blooming a smile against Jathrin’s mouth. He parted from me, peppering gentle kisses along my face; across my forehead, the tip of my crooked nose, my cheeks, and chin. A warm fondness pooled in my chest, and my fingertips urged Jathrin’s head up, allowing me to lock lips with him once more. The soft earth cradled me as I sunk into it, enjoying the feeling of Jathrin’s body atop my own. My mind ripened with thoughts that would make Cole ask _far_ too many questions, and I passed my tongue along my lips to lave at Jathrin’s lower. He made a surprised sound into the kiss, though quickly melted into my advances. The boldness that had emerged as a byproduct of unspent desire became kindling, and the lingering remnants of my longing burned a white hot track through my limbs.

Jathrin’s lips parted to welcome my prying tongue, scavenging the wet cavern of his mouth as I swallowed a guttural sound that threated me with a deep rumble in my sternum. Heat flooded my form, sending the vision behind my lidded eyes to a blinding white. The world around me fell away, oozing down the hill as I felt nothing beyond the heat pooling in my abdomen that fanned the physical want I’d previously been on unfamiliar terms with.

When the oxygen in my lungs ran short, I pulled back with a gasp, left with the taste of Jathrin’s mouth clouding my rationale. “ _Fenedhis._ ” I murmured airily, my explorative hands finding their way to Jathrin’s face, running hungrily like water down his cheeks. “Sathan, ar nuvena…” The words spilled from my mouth without direct commanding, rather, a desperate plead for something to sate the hunger welling up like a wave, crashing over my shores and drowning me with a soft ringing in my ears.

“Ma nuvenin.” Jathrin was all too willing to comply with my gasping pleas, and one hand left its resting place beside my head to gingerly cup my cheek before drawing a line along my taut neck, flushed with the wine of my intoxication. He met my gaze with a tender look, and I felt my breathless mouth curl into a smile. My lips were wet with my tongue running along them in anticipation, and Jathrin played my want to the tune of his content hums.

Pressing his warm lips against my throat, the pulse that resided there ached for his touch, pushing for freedom against the skin that wrapped around its energy. He kissed a path from below my jaw to the hollow of my throat, his warm hand cascading along my side; fingertips grazing each rise and dip of the sinewy muscles along my ribs. The tunic loosely splayed around my body felt constrictive as the heat engulfed me, and Jathrin’s roaming fingers found the triangular patch of exposed skin. He prodded beneath the thin material with a single finger, ceasing his kisses in exchange to brush the tip of his nose along my skin.

“Is this alright?” He asked, less concerned with my state of being, and more so for permission that I was all too eager to oblige. I nodded, smiling through the blissful eroticism.

“More than.” My answer was choppy with my ragged breathing that heaved my chest with exaggerated rises and dips, only to worsen as his hand pushed up the thin material and splayed along my abdomen. My navel dipped with each shuddering breath, and Jathrin traced along the small definitions of muscle. “ _Creators,_ ” I managed, lids fluttering as my neck tilted towards the skies in a nonverbal plea for more.

Jathrin seemed as eager to please as I was to receive, and he drew little hearts above the waistband of my leggings. I smiled through the fog of my pleasure, and lightly lifted my hips just enough to press into the touch. The wet line of kisses that left a trail of glistening saliva from the teasing circles drawn with the tip of his tongue along my neck continued its venture down my chest, kissing without lingering, and reassuring me that he respected me beyond the betrayal of my sex. I breathed a sigh of relief, giving myself in to the assault on my senses.

Once Jathrin’s lips had met the exposed skin above my abdomen, he looked up to me through long lashes, eyes glazed and wanting. My head, feeling heavy as though my brain had turned to stone, lifted from the blanket to return his gaze. My face was burning, sanguine want dripping from my hairline and pooling rapidly in the valley of my sternum; expanding out along my ribs. I reached down, my fingers brushing a few stray hairs away from his face, only for him to turn his head and kiss my open palm.

“Should we do this here…?” Jathrin pushed himself up slightly, grabbing lightly at my ankles and pushing my legs up to a forty five degree bend as his shoulders nudged my legs apart. He quelled my worries my kissing at the bend of my knee, sending a pulse of anxious anticipation surging through my hip bones and straight into my chest.

“I do not see why not,” he chuckled, dipping his fingers into the waistband of my leggings. We made eye contact, his golden eyes pleading with me. I nodded, my limbs quivering as Jathrin gingerly pulled the grey material away from my skin. The air was warm around me, a lazy summer breeze that lapped at every inch bared to the world.

Jathrin made quick work of my clothes, removing them from my thin legs in a wide yanking motion. They fell in a forgotten heap to the side, and my lower half lay naked before the other. He smiled at me, flashing his canines with a mischievous glimmer tinting his eyes. I let myself succumb to the shakes weakening my muscles, pressing my shoulders into the soft earth with gasping breaths.

His lips were rose petals on the inside of my thigh, the wet sounds of his mouth filling my ears above the soft ringing that had only grown louder as my body responded to each and every touch. The bend of my knees housed Jathrin’s shoulders, and his arms wrapped beneath my thighs, hands gripping lightly at the sharp protrusions of my hipbones. I looked up briefly, only to allow my fingers access to Jathrin’s hair; knuckles gingerly entangling the soft strands of the loose tresses.

I had been pining for so long, and yet, never imagined I would get _this_ far. To be on my back, with this man between my legs, respecting me for more than my body. I wanted to think that this was some—

“Oh my… _fuck_..!” Lost briefly in my thoughts, I almost lost my awareness at the sheer overwhelmed exhaustion of my senses, but came back into awareness with the surge of pleasure radiating up every disc of my spine and numbing the back of my skull. My knuckled paled as they held onto Jathrin’s hair like a reign, my thighs quivering around his head as his tongue sent my eyes rolling into the back of my skull.

* * *

 V.

I came quickly. Contracting around Jathrin’s fingers, my thighs enveloping his head, and all but screaming his name in a slew of Elvhen curses. He rode out my orgasm without stopping until I begged him to; his tongue on my overstimulated body becoming too much.

Jathrin had left me in a pool of my own sweat, taking in vain the names of nearly every god in our shared pantheon. My fingers had dug into the back of his skull and he gingerly peeled my hands from his head as my body seized and shook in the warm afterglow that turned my limbs to static. I could barely catch my breath, and melted into the blanket as a spilled pint of ale does when left to travel along a tavern bar.

Jathrin rose up from between my legs, letting me flop, helpless and weak, in a pile of spent limbs. I was content to lay partly naked, but he retrieved my forgotten leggings, and tenderly drew them back up my legs. It was grateful, but didn’t yet trust my voice, and merely offered a grateful smile tinged heavily with tired satisfaction.

After I was clothed, Jathrin lay his body beside mine, looking at me with warm fondness. I smiled at him, and he leant in to press the softest of kisses to my mouth. He lightly bumped his nose affectionately against mine, drawing a soft chuckle from my mouth.

“Consider that an apology for keeping you waiting so long.” He joked, his voice soft.

“I owe you one.” I managed between deep swallows of air, forcing my body into equilibrium.

“I would prefer we share the next one,” Jathrin chuckled, wiping my sweat dampened bangs from my forehead. “If that would suit you.”

“Oh, but of course.” I smiled, but soon groaned, bringing my hands up to my face and digging my palms into my eyes.

“What is it?”

Cracking the barest of smiles, I let my hands remain covering my face. “Varric owes Dorian twenty royals.”

 


End file.
